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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842591">We Were Broken Then But Now We're Borderline</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt'>IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Bad Parent John Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, If I'm Capable Of A Slow Burn, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soldier Castiel, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, This sounds really dark but i promise it's not, Traumatized Castiel (Supernatural), Traumatized Dean Winchester, True Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:26:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a good life. He lives with his adoptive father Bobby, works as a mechanic, goes to physical therapy for an old injury John Winchester gave him, and has given up on meeting his soulmate.</p>
<p>Castiel Novak is a peace-loving former doctor whose older brother pushed him into the military. After a traumatizing experience in Afghanistan, he finds a job at a library and starts trying to regain his life, starting with physical therapy for his shoulder.</p>
<p>And there's a handsome man he just keeps running into...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>270</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from Leonard Cohen's song Treaty. Also I own nothing here and make no profit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>“Not Sammy, Dad, please not Sammy,”</span></em> <em><span>Dean begged as he flung his scrawny, twelve year old body in front of his younger brother, their father towering in front of him.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John Winchester’s bloodshot eyes narrowed as he advanced on his sons, the bottle of Jack Daniels hanging from his fist swinging as he lurched toward them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean fumbled behind him for the door to their motel room - it was an older, cheap place, and the individual rooms opened out onto iron walkways. If he could just get Sammy out the door, down the flight of stairs, and into the motel office where there were people, they’d be safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The door creaked open, worn hinges protesting the movement, and Dean shoved Sammy out. “The office, Sammy, run,” he panted as he turned to face his father again, hearing the clatter of his younger brother navigating the rusty stairs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You little bastard,” John growled as he lurched toward Dean, “You fucker.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean backed away, praying that his father’s attention stayed on him long enough for his little brother to escape the man’s drunken, unprovoked rage.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John’s fist collided with Dean’s temple, and he stumbled backward as pain exploded behind his eyes. “Dad,” he choked out, “Dad, please…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fist came back, this time smashing into his ribcage, and Dean stepped back, felt his heel come down on empty air.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His arms pinwheeled frantically even as he hunched over from the pain and then his foot was slipping, his ankle was clanging against the top step of the staircase - shit, he’d backed up too far - and then everything was spinning, and he was falling, and then he was in a crumpled heap on the ground, his father’s bulk advancing on him, and a sharp, endless pain in his right knee.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He looked down; there was a white sliver of bone sticking out of the mangled carnage on his leg. He must have landed wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least Sammy got away, he thought woozily, before he passed out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, Castiel thought as his hands moved frantically, independent of his racing mind. Christ, I can’t do this, I don’t know what’s happening, how the hell did I get here?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Here’ was a previously abandoned compound in a dusty, dry corner of Hell. Or, as it was known more colloquially, Afghanistan. And Castiel had gotten there because he was a doctor fresh out of med school, and his older brother Michael had pressed him to join the army and uphold the family reputation and Castiel had, foolishly, agreed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And now he was here, crouched next to a pallet in an open courtyard as bullets rained down around him, watching his shaking hands fail to stem the flow of blood coming from the young man trembling on the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a chunk of the man’s thigh missing, blood spurting out of severed arteries, and even if Castiel had been back home with a team of nurses and the ideal equipment he would have been hard pressed to save him. “It’ll be okay,” he promised, as the man whimpered and clutched at him, and when he died Castiel moved on to the next victim.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was just a boy. His name was Adam Milligan, and he’d befriended Castiel on his first day here in this awful place, and there was a hole in his stomach the size of Castiel’s fist. Adam looked up at him, tried to smile as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, then collapsed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All around him, the bodies of every other godforsaken man the United States had sent out to this godforsaken place fell under the siege the Taliban had launched against them, and Castiel carried out his doomed mission, failing to save any of them, watching his friends die and the light leave their eyes, until he was alone, stained in the blood of so many of his friends.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then men holding assault rifles and yelling harshly to each other in a language Castiel did not understand were bursting into the courtyard, and he was being knocked over the head, and he knew no more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean groaned as he heaved himself out from underneath the Firebird he’d been tinkering on, rubbing absently at his knee. It was going to rain later, a welcome change from the dry Kansas summer, but he couldn’t say he really enjoyed the warning system his bones gave him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You finished yet, boy?” his boss, Bobby Singer, spun around the corner in his wheelchair, the twinkle in his eyes belying the gruff tone he used. Bobby’s late wife Karen had been working in the ER when Dean had been brought in thirteen years ago, unconscious with a mangled knee and a scared baby brother clinging to his side, and had instantly decided that she was going to apply to adopt them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had worked, and Sam and Dean had grown up with the couple. Bobby often said that they kept him going after Karen passed away, and Dean would retort that it was payback for saving their lives years ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Sam went off to Stanford like the big geek he was, and Dean found himself working at SInger’s Auto, known far and wide for his talent restoring classic cars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a good life, he reminded his knee, so there’s no need for you to get all pissy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on,” Bobby continued gruffly, “Get outta here. You’ve got physical therapy in half an hour.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stood up, sighing in relief as his back let out a series of cracking pops, and wiped the grease off of his hands, taking care to clean the greyish-blue soulmate mark on the inside of his wrist, a jagged angle that looked almost like an ‘F’, but with three prongs on it. “She’s a ‘71,” he remarked to Bobby, nodding at the car. “Gonna need a four-fifty-five engine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby retorted, playfully snapping the grease towel at Dean. “I’ll see what I can do, now get to your appointment already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, old man,” Dean retorted, sauntering over to his Baby, his ‘67 Chevy Impala, the very first car he’d ever rebuilt from the ground up and his pride and joy, and obeying the order.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel checked his watch as he shelved the last of the books on the return cart, then returned the cart to the library’s front desk. “I’m gonna head out, Jackie,” he called to the head librarian, who sent him a sweet smile and nodded to show she’d understood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jackie was an absolute sweetheart, and the backbone of the town of Lawrence. She’d been running the public library there for as long as anyone could remember, and was very active in the community. If there was a church social, Jackie was there. A fundraiser for the firefighters? Jackie was there, and she’d brought cookies. She had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, and her sweet but stubborn demeanor meant that what Jackie wanted, Jackie got.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a result, the arts scene in Lawrence was flourishing, and Jackie hosted a weekly get-together after hours at the library as part of a program where individuals suffering from trauma could come and create art as a coping mechanism.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was where she’d met Castiel, sitting at the very back of the room and staring at his easel like it was going to bite him, trembling at every raised voice and noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d walked up to him and introduced herself, this tiny lady in an artist’s smock, smeared with yellow paint and somehow still appearing perfectly poised, and he’d found himself relaxing as he talked to her. He didn’t open up completely, of course, he never had and probably never would, but it had helped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she’d decided to take him under her wing, got him a job as the children’s librarian at the library with flexible hours so he could take time when he needed it, and she’d also talked him into going to physical therapy for the torn rotator cuff in his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost all the other physical marks of his period of captivity had healed in the five months he’d been stateside, but that one had stubbornly stayed, and now he was paying for his reluctance to see a professional with weekly sessions. Sadly, there was no way he could fix his badly mangled soul mark as easily, with the shiny burn scars that streaked across it. Still, it wasn’t like he was a catch anyway, he’d probably never need the mark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he pulled up to the physical therapist’s office and entered the building, he passed a man in the hallway. His eyes were almost drawn to him, and the hall was narrow enough that the man’s slight limp jolted him to the side so that their wrists brushed and he felt a small electric shock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his wrist slightly, he watched the man walk away, getting into a black muscle car and pulling out of the parking lot with a loud engine rev, then turned his attention to signing in with the receptionist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean didn’t notice it at first. How could he have? Most people met their soulmates by the time they turned twenty-one, and he was four years past that; of course he wouldn’t be still looking for his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that night, as he lowered the washcloth from his face and stared at the inside of his wrist at the little mark that had been the washed out color of clouds on a rainy day for as long as he could remember, it was undeniable. The mark was pitch black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point in that day, Dean had touched his soulmate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean calls on his brother to help him, because Lord knows that boy needs help, and then has a tiny bit of a crisis.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what am i doing with my life what is happening i dont know theres so much i should be working on but im writing fic while half asleep at uni please send help i think ive had too much caffeine</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean did what Dean usually did when something strange, unusual, or generally out of his depth happened: he called Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude,” his brother slurred blearily, “It’s like midnight. What d’you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, man, but… something happened.” Dean shifted on his feet, hung up his towel, his fingers twitching with the controlled but frantic need to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ve got to give a presentation on proper case briefing etiquette in eight hours, which I haven’t written yet. Make it snappy.” Sam sounded exhausted, and Dean made a mental note to call Jess and tell her to take good care of his baby brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nah, he knew she did her best. Wasn’t her fault Sammy had a talent for working himself to the bone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On second thought, maybe he should send her, like, a gift card. Or a fruit basket. As a token of appreciation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his ear, Sam’s voice was heavy with held-back sleep. “Dean, what is it? Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Sammy.” His voice sounded distant, strange and foreign in his own ears, and he spared a thought for how much that would probably worry Sam. “I’m not. My mark - my mark is black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beat of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I - Sam, I don’t know who it was! How am I ever going to find them again?” Dean paced, the wooden floor of his tiny apartment creaking under his heavy tread as his leg set up a sympathetic throbbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he thought the damn thing was psychic and tuned in to his mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Uh, okay. Are you sure it happened today?” Sam was alert, that giant brain of his shifting into full problem-solving mode. Dean pictured him sitting bolt upright at his cramped desk, phone clutched to his ear as he studiously researched late developing soulmate bonds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - oh, Jesus, Sam, I don’t know. All I know is it happened sometime between, let me see, the start of the classic car show a few days ago, and this evening.” He twisted his wrist around, shifting his grip on the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The black stain on his wrist glared at him. Yep, definitely still there. Definitely still filled in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His soulmate was definitely out there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sam was obviously trying to project calm, but Dean could hear the undercurrent of excitement running through his voice. Bitch. “How many people have you had skin contact with since then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, jeez, Sam, let me just pull out my handy-dandy little list of every hand I’ve shook.” Dean sank down to sit on his bed, sighing in defeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just - I can’t believe this. I never thought I’d meet my soulmate, but… somehow I did, and I didn’t even notice.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “Okay, well. I shook hands with a lot of people at the classic car show down in Topeka. Since then, I’ve probably touched a few customers at the auto shop, maybe some random brushes at the grocery store or on the sidewalk, and this one dude at physical therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam took a deep breath, obviously gearing up to impart a plan. “All right. Keep an eye on social media and whatnot, I know you follow a lot of classic car pages, see if anyone posts about looking for a soulmate they bonded with at the Topeka show. And try to see if any customers have the same mark at the shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, yes sir.” Dean stared at the incriminating mark. It would be recognizable on someone else’s wrist for sure, with the three prongs standing out starkly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every soulmate mark pair was a little different; you and your soulmate were the only people that had a particular design. Sometimes, though, they looked really similar when they weren’t the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For example, Sam. His mark, a sort of twisty sunburst, had darkened at a frat party. He’d been dancing with a girl named Ruby, and hers had changed too. They’d had a short, tumultuous relationship full of drastic highs and lows, she’d gotten him temporarily hooked on the party scene, and then they’d noticed that he had more rays on his sunburst than she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he’d met Jess, who’d also been at the party that night, and everything had fallen into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean really didn’t want to make that mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be okay if I hang up and go to sleep now?” Sam asked in his ear, in the tone of one who’d asked the same question multiple times already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Dean startled out of his reverie. “Oh, yeah, okay. Night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam hung up, huffing out a quiet “Jerk,” and Dean sat there on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light from his bedside lamp cast weak shadows across the room, and Dean heaved a sigh into the sticky stillness of the air, staring at the blank phone display like it held the answers to all his questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soulmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean had, at some point, met his soulmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d given up on that </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>ago, figuring that his luck had been shit for most of his life, why wouldn’t that hold true in the soulmate department, too? Maybe his soulmate had died before they met, maybe they lived somewhere so far away he’d never meet them. Then he’d lost himself in working, occasionally going out to clubs and picking up a one night stand, trying to slake his burning need for love and companionship in the balm of quiet gasps and moans, losing himself for a time in the feel of the men and women whose names he’d never remember the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, now he knew that there had been someone out there for him, someone waiting. Someone who was, quite literally, the perfect match for him. The perfect companion for his soul, broken and scarred though it may be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if they didn’t want him? Dean, a high school dropout with a bum leg and enough designer emotional baggage to weigh them both down and drag them under? A mechanic, with constant grease circles under his nails, who woke himself up screaming half the time? Dean wasn’t a catch, not by a long shot, and he knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just didn’t know how he’d react if his soulmate rejected him. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t completely unheard of, and he didn’t know if he could survive that.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im so fuckign tired</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel woke up screaming, phantom flames licking along his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat upright, shoving off the blankets, and sat on the edge of his bed, panting. He glared down at the shiny skin, his ruined and mangled soulmark throbbing like it sometimes did, and sighed. The nightmares were getting worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the worst ways you could hurt a person was to damage their soulmark intentionally, the experience and excruciating pain causing a lasting mark on their psyche. Castiel had been held captive for two months, knocked around and threatened for information he didn’t have, when two men had held him down and another had advanced on him with a hot poker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they were done thoroughly destroying the three-pronged, hooked shape on his wrist, he was slumped over sobbing, willing to tell them anything and everything they might’ve asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t asked anything. They’d left him there in agony, and two days later, he’d been rescued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heaved himself up off of the bed, grumbling, and shuffled into his apartment’s tiny, cozy kitchen. It was late enough that he could get himself ready to face the day and head out to the library; not being alone with his thoughts was always a good goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jabbed sleepily at his coffee maker, which gurgled at him patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whacked it again, squinting at it, wondering why there was no coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he maneuvered himself over to pull a bowl and box of sprouted-grain cereal out of the cupboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the fridge, idly wishing he’d remembered to pull on his fuzzy slippers, and was confronted by a distinct lack of milk. Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting at his little kitchen table, sipping on bitter coffee (full of grounds, because he’d forgotten the filter) and eating dry healthy cereal was obviously an auspicious start to his day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stumbled into the library a little after eight, rubbing at his eyes, and was greeted by a poised but definitely frazzled Jackie. “Castiel! Oh, thank goodness,” she exclaimed as she moved out from behind the giant oaken circulation desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm?” Castiel said, holding onto his travel coffee mug like a lifeline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Castiel, the zoologist for today’s children’s hour just bailed on us, I simply can’t believe it!” She fluttered around him, straightening the collar on his trench coat and urging his posture higher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel blearily took in the hustle and bustle of the library, people of all shapes and sizes quietly browsing through the well-organized shelves. Somewhere in the distance, a baby wailed loudly, then settled into a quiet babble. “That’s too bad,” he replied. “What am I shelving today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jackie came to a halt in front of him, anxiously twisting her hands in front of her. “Dear Castiel, always so eager to help,” she chuckled. “Actually, I was wondering if you might consider… taking the zoologist’s spot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a zoologist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d just need to read some children’s books about animals, maybe use some of our little finger puppets?” She looked at him pleadingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel, completely unable to comprehend filling in for a zoologist before he was even fully awake, took another long swig of coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. His mug was almost empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’ll be good for you,” she implored, waiting nervously for an answer. “We really don’t have anyone else who could do it, and you have such a lovely reading voice…” She trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel considered. It was out of his usual routine, which was problematic, and he wasn’t good with children at all. There was a very good chance that the whole matter would become a disaster. “Sure, I’ll do it,” he said, surprising everybody around him and especially himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was then immediately shuffled through the library to a room with about fifteen children in it, the walls plastered in brightly colored posters. The kids were sitting in a half circle on a brightly colored rug, and a chair with a stack of books sat front and center.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right, the activity room. One of the few places in the library that Castiel avoided like the plague.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jackie, the traitor, shoved him gently through the doorway and vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel stood just inside the room as fifteen pairs of bright, excited eyes latched onto him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was swarmed by a crowd of five year olds, the general excitement of which carried him across the room and to the reader’s chair quite against his will, and he found himself opening up a copy of The Rainbow Zebra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the third book, he’d fallen into a relaxed, calm rhythm. He thought it had something to do with his brain finally picking up on all the coffee he’d consumed. He read, pacing his voice slowly, and even gave different characters different accents and inflections.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was actually - perish the thought - having </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two children playing with his shoelaces, one snoozing in a little heap on the rug, and one hugging his leg insistently. All of them were entirely spellbound by the stories he kept telling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he got more confident, his reading became more animated, pulling gasps and giggles out of his wriggling, impressionable audience.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stumbled out of the library late that afternoon, pleasantly exhausted. It had been a good day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, he’d discovered that the library’s activity calendar had never had a zoologist coming and the day’s happenings had been billed as ‘storytime’ from the start, but, well. He’d had fun with the kids, reading to them, so he supposed he could forgive Jackie for tricking him into coming out of his shell a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trotted over to his old, marginally trustworthy gold Lincoln Continental, and slipped behind the wheel. After a few turns of the key, she started with only a couple of grumpy coughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a good car. He could have gotten a newer one, one that ran better, but somehow he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Milk, he thought suddenly. He needed milk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He changed his course to take him by the supermarket on his way home, mentally composing a list of all the other items he couldn’t quite remember if he needed or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An imminent problem arose when he reached the produce aisle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a very pretty man glaring at a cantaloupe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel edged along behind him and started tapping different heads of broccoli, trying to find one that was in relatively good shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell,” he heard. Lovely. Pretty Boy was cursing out a cantaloupe. Castiel peered over his shoulder, trying to subtly get a glimpse of those gorgeous green eyes. His wrist throbbed with phantom pain, and he rubbed over it grumpily, sending a death glare at an innocent tower of bell peppers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Scuse me,” said Pretty Boy. “Do you know how to tell if a cantaloupe is ripe? My brother told me to try them.” He was standing a few feet away from Castiel, his body language open and accepting. He was a tall, well muscled man, but was obviously trying to appear non-threatening. “Have we met before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel considered. “I believe we saw each other at the physical therapist. The melon should be sort of beige, and smell sweet.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks!” The man flashed him a wide smile, all sparkling teeth and dimples, and Castiel felt an odd swooping sensation in his stomach. “Hey, you-” The man was saying, but Castiel was already striding away, utterly terrified of what he would let himself say if he stayed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Castiel has a lot of awkward situationing to do, and Dean struggles greatly with grocery shopping</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I feel like this is shaping up to be a long fic help idk how to write a long fic??? Also I know nothing about cars please dont hurt me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean stood there, clutching his probably under ripe cantaloupe, as the man scurried away from him. “Was it something I said?” he asked the fruit, which didn’t reply. “I’m talking to a cantaloupe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Sammy called, saving Dean from further embarrassment by way of fruit-talking. “Hey, Dean, I’ve got an idea for how to solve your soulmark issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Dean encouraged him to go on, as he scrutinized a leek with great suspicion, before bypassing it and heading for the good stuff, like ground beef for hamburgers. And ice cream. And beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He navigated his cart around an end cap filled with rubber dishwashing gloves (were those a thing? Why were those a thing) while Sam blathered in his ear about some government initiative years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when the study showed that the general populace is happier with a soulmate, a committee was formed…” Sam babbled, clearly geeking out about all the research he’d gotten to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stopped walking and evaluated a carton of chicken thighs, planning out his meals for the week. Should he bake some Cajun chicken? Maybe do a nice curry?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Sam said, “I’ll send you the link. I gotta go, Jess has an OB/GYN appointment in half an hour and I promised to drive her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take care, talk to ya later,” Dean said, preoccupied, then, “Wait a second, Jess has a what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone beeped mournfully in his ear, letting him know that Sam was long gone, rushing on to whatever next big thing claimed his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his phone awkwardly and trying not to get run over by a horde of intense shoppers, Dean tapped out a message to Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>&gt;Jess prgnt? Y u no tell?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he noticed that he had a voicemail from Bobby, asking if he could stop by the shop because they were really completely, totally swamped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he muttered, tossing an eggplant into his cart and heading for the checkout. He could stop by his apartment and drop the groceries off, then head to Singer Auto. If he hurried, he could make it in half an hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel was most of the way home with his groceries when his car let out a semi-dignified stutter, then a thin wisp of smoke edged out from under the hood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “That shouldn’t be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the car made a clunking, grinding noise, wheezed twice, and stopped in the middle of the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Cas complained, patting the steering wheel, managing to edge her off the road to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the key, pressed the gas experimentally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car coughed, wheezed, and smoked some more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas squinted down the road. He could just see his apartment building down the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” he coaxed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car did not come on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he pulled a battered Singer Auto card out of his glove box, dialing the number and settling back to wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less than an hour later, a tow truck clattered up to him, and Cantaloupe Pretty Boy hopped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas thunked his head down onto the dashboard. “Fuck,” he declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he straightened his trench coat and hopped out of the car, ready to act professional and not at all like he’d just run away from the poor guy in the supermarket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m Dean,” Pretty Cantaloupe Man said, and popped the hood of the car. “Just gonna take a look-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes met Cas’ and he swallowed convulsively. “Hey,” Dean said. “Look, I’m sorry if I freaked you out at the supermarket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas barely comprehended what was going on. He was busy clutching at his forearm in agony, the shooting pains that had started the second he met Dean’s eyes bringing tears up and making him double over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, man, are you okay?” Dean’s voice was moving closer, and Cas could hear the worry. “Dude, you’re worrying me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas crumpled to his knees, the pain from his shoulder wound nothing compared to the agony his arm was in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder, and the pain vanished. Was instantly gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas stood up, shakily, and gestured toward the car. “Yeah, all good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was hovering over him, hand still on his shoulder, eyes peering worriedly at him. “Do you need me to get you an ambulance? Or I can drive you to the hospital myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas thought for a second. He didn’t know what was wrong with his arm, but he was pretty sure he’d spontaneously combust if Dean looked at him with that much caring concern again, so he pulled out the excuse he really, really hated using. “Check my license tag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His license tag was a veteran’s plate with a Purple Heart emblem, signifying he’d been wounded in combat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean circled the car and checked the tag, then returned, business as usual. “Okay, sir, let me just hook the car up to my truck here. Looks like your engine is pretty well busted, and it’s gummed up some of the car’s inner mechanisms. I’ll take her back to the shop and see what I can do, but you may wanna look into getting a new car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Cas together got the Lincoln Continental onto the tow truck, then piled into the cab and sat in an awkward silence until they reached Singer Auto.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas hopped out of the truck and hurried up to Bobby Singer, the proprietor, who was sitting behind an oil-stained desk and swigging beer. Interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, sir, Dean just brought my car in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby looked through the window behind the desk into the garage, where Dean was wiping his forehead as he glared under the hood. He whistled long and low through his teeth. “That hunk a’ junk actually ran?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas bristled on behalf of her car. “She’s a good old car. She gets me where I need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby held up his hands, placating. “I get that, man. But I also know that it’s gotta be hurting Dean’s pride to even touch her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was probably a fair assessment, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long do you think it’ll be?” he asked, taking a seat. “I do have groceries in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean’ll be in within fifteen minutes,” Bobby told him, offering him a beer, “and then we’ll know if we need to loan you a rental or what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas accepted the beer, settling in to wait and hope his milk didn’t spoil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was back in under five minutes. “Bobby,” he called, popping his head in the door. “You gotta come see this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby heaved himself up out of the chair and went outside, Cas trailing behind him and decidedly not noticing that there was a smudge of grease along one of Dean’s delicate cheekbones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby peered under the hood. “Jesus Christ.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.” Dean nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Cas wanted to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, is the question. Everything that could have gone wrong, did. And there’s over two hundred thousand miles on the old girl.” Dean sighed, poking at a blackened puddle of sludge resting on the engine. “I don’t even know what this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Cas said. “I’m assuming it’s unfixable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of the mechanics even deigned to reply to that one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then. Bobby, you said something about a rental until I can find and buy another car?” Buying another car would mean dipping into the money his asshole of a grandfather had left to him in his will years ago, money which Cas really didn’t want to touch if he could help it. He didn’t want to accept anything from the homophobic old man, but… needs were needs. He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bobby, you rented out the last loaner yesterday,” Dean said, jabbing the older man lightly with a wrench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I did. Huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can drive you wherever you need to go, Cas,” Dean offered, his smile genuine. “I’d be glad to, honest, especially since this old geezer promised you a car and didn’t deliver. Gotta keep the customer happy, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas, unable to think of anything but his groceries and impending car shopping, agreed before he could stop himself, then promptly internally freaked out.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean makes a discovery</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oops i did an angst</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After dropping Cas and his groceries off at his apartment building, which Dean noticed wasn’t really that far from his own residence, Dean spent the rest of his shift at the auto shop wandering around in a daze. The man had been so handsome, and almost acted nervous around Dean… and when he’d collapsed on the side of the road? It had almost been like Dean’s touch soothed his pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean shook his head to clear it. That was ridiculous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grumpily kicked the tire of an innocent Prius standing by for a mechanic that knew how to deal with the weird-ass hybrid engine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his phone dinged and he pulled it out as fast as he could, opening it to see a couple of messages from Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>&gt;jess prgnt, 10 wks</b>
</p><p>
  <b>&gt;sending u link</b>
</p><p>
  <b>&gt;4 soulmate thingy</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean considered which of those things to deal with first as he absently accepted a beer from Bobby, who’d come outside to check on him, and sat down, his work for the day finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;thx sam</b>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;congrats!!!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt; :D</b>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sam sent the link he’d promised, Dean clicked on it as fast as he possibly could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” he said out loud, squinting at the phone screen. It looked complicated, there was a survey looking thing, and he wanted to do it on a larger screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resigning himself to waiting for a little bit longer, he emailed the link to himself so he could pick it up from his laptop later, then turned his attention to Bobby, who was yelling for help inside the office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sighed, heaving himself off of the junker he was sitting on and headed into the building. The books were probably out of order again, and it was going to take both him and Bobby quite a bit of time to get them organized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was mostly due to the fact that ‘the books’ were not so much a cohesive books of records as they were a spiral notebook filled with crumpled receipts and illegible notes scribbled in the margins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking in the door, Dean immediately groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes that the mess in front of him would vanish when he reopened them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A harried mother and her toddler had been sitting in the office waiting for a simple oil change, which one of the other mechanics had taken care of. When the mother went up to the desk to pay, the child had reached out and grabbed the record notebook, sending it crashing to the floor, contents scattering everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dean sighed, surveying the damage. “I’m taking this home and transcribing all this shit into an actual records book that’s actually made for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby nodded, pushing his trucker cap back and scratching his head. “Yeah, prolly a good idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flopping down onto his bed and wincing as the movement jarred his shoulder, Cas heaved a giant sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he pulled out his phone and dialled his general practitioner, making an appointment to see about the random shooting pains in his forearm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated talking on the phone, he hated doctors, and he hated being in pain. Cas was not having a good day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, because he already had the phone out, he went into his email and confirmed his next physical therapy appointment, set for the next day. Maybe they could do something about the arm pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he’d completed that task, Cas abruptly decided that it was evening anyway, and he was thoroughly done trying to be an adult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, he was a badass. He’d been an army doctor and now he was a librarian who fearlessly faced hordes of children. If he wanted to wear fuzzy socks with corgis on them and watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Legally Blonde</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then he was damn well going to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled over to the couch with his dinner, having microwaved some potato-leek soup he’d made a few days ago, and cued up his movie. Whatever weird shit was going on with him, whyever he kept seeing Dean everywhere? He could deal with that later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean settled into his desk at his apartment, the daunting task of completely reorganizing Singer Auto’s record books making him take a moment to bury his head in his hands and bemoan his luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the remnants of a pot roast out of the fridge and settled in to eat it cold as he flipped through the pages of the notebook and started taking notes, trying to decipher Bobby’s messy scrawl in the margins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours later, it was completely dark outside and Dean had made very little progress (although the way it was looking, there was already a sum of about five thousand dollars lying around somewhere unaccounted for), so he decided to check out that link Sam had sent him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out his laptop and opened the link sitting in his email, settling himself in for a confusing experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First it had him fill out about five pages of a survey, which came out to about fifty questions, which tired Dean out completely. He input his name, address, phone number, email, secondary phone number, place of employment, tertiary phone number, and much, much more. Some of which he had to pull out old files from his desk drawer to hunt down the answers to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a legitimate government website, and renewed in Dean an intense hatred of bureaucracy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he came to what the form reliably informed him was the last page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upload a clear photo of your soulmark, the page ordered him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew that was coming. This was, after all, a site designed to help people whose marks had darkened find their soulmates. Still, it felt wrong somehow, to trust his soulmark to a computer. It seemed so impersonal; Dean wished he’d have gotten the more organic first meeting experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, none of his and Sam’s searching had turned up anything, so he was going to have to do it this way and hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snapped a picture, making sure the soulmark was clear and visible under good light, and sent that to his email too, then dragged the file over to the website.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The big blue button at the bottom reading SUBMIT blinked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean blinked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clicked the button. Then he went to bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he woke up the next morning, he had an unread email from the Soulmark Agency. He stumbled out of bed, scrubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin and snatched his phone up, opening his email as he wandered into the kitchen and absentmindedly pulled a package of bacon out of the fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The email loaded slowly as he heated up a skillet, blinking sleep out of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it loaded completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Dean saw was a very large ‘</span>
  <b>Congratulations!!</b>
  <span>’ at the top of the email.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second thing Dean saw was stars as he did a massive double take, knocking the skillet off the stove and onto his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was finished hopping around and yelling, he shut the stove off and sat at the table to read the email that would change his life forever. He felt a tentative bubble of hope rising in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations, Dean! </span>
  </em>
  <span>The email read. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your soulmark has a match! Click the link below to read more.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean clicked the link.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring up at him from the phone screen was a pair of very familiar blue eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he said calmly, then read Castiel’s profile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It said that all military personnel were automatically entered into the database due to their high level of civilian contact. Cas’ profile was a few years old, had been entered long before his soulmark would have filled in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had his basic information, most of which Dean knew already just from spending time with him, and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>Discharged. Current location unknown. Would you like to contact </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Castiel Novak</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean had seen Cas, seen him a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since their soulmarks would have darkened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas had to have known; it wasn’t like Dean made a big deal of hiding his mark. Cas had to have known Dean was his soulmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d probably figured it out almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’d rejected Dean. He hadn’t wanted him. He’d looked at Dean, screwed up excuse for a person that he was, and decided that Dean, his soulmate, wasn’t worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean suddenly felt rather sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One half of a soulmate pair rejecting the other wasn’t unheard of, but it was extremely rare. Soulmates were literally made for each other; there was no reason for them to reject each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, eighty percent of rejected soulmates died. The connection, once formed when the soulmarks filled in, pulled them toward each other. They were two halves of the same whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rejected soulmates, quite literally, had a tendency to die of a broken heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling generally terrible, Dean tapped out a quick message calling out of work, then went back to bed, burying himself in a nest of blankets.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cas groaned, rubbing his eyes. He was sprawled on the couch, having quite obviously fallen asleep while watching a movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The position was hell on his back and shoulder, and he grudgingly did a couple of stretches as he shuffled to the bathroom, before suddenly remembering a couple of things. First, he had two appointments that day, the first one, with his general practitioner, in under an hour. And second, he still didn’t have a car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrubbing his face with a washcloth in an effort to look slightly less like roadkill, he considered his options. He could call Charlie, the library’s IT person. They were what you could reasonably call friends, even if he didn’t understand most of her references. Or he could call Garth, one of his other friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie would probably be best. Cas didn’t think he was quite up to surviving Garth’s cheerful chatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring at his own red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, and accepting that he looked like shit and nothing was going to change that, he pulled out his phone and dialed Charlie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he went in search of coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean woke up, head pounding and mouth dry, and cast one baleful eye toward his alarm clock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was three. AM or PM, he didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a brief moment of confusion, the memory of finding out his soulmate had rejected him crashed over him like a wave, sending a blunt pain throbbing in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doubled over, clutching at the bedspread, crying out weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what he should do. He should call an ambulance and let himself be taken to the hospital, let them hook him up to beeping machines in the hopes of keeping his body stabilized and alive until the initial shock it had endured was over, and there was a chance he could pull through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would probably survive. It wasn’t like he and Cas had formed any sort of emotional attachment before the rejection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean coughed, a weak movement that sent pain spiking through him, and relaxed back against the covers. He wasn’t going to make the call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If his soulmate didn’t want him, what was the point?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unnoticed next to his bed, his phone blinked, notifying him of multiple missed calls and messages. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie showed up in her banana yellow Mini Cooper and immediately began fussing over Cas, wrapping him in a blanket - “I’m fine, Charlie” - and pushing a cup of coffee into his hand - “Thanks?” - before hustling him into the car and offering him a portable heating pad for his shoulder - “I really am fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she huffed. “You’re fine. Just let me fuss over you, Cas, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you fussing over me?” He asked, baffled, as she ran a yellow light cheerfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re my friend, Cas, I care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hermione bobblehead on her dashboard nodded along in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas concurred. He then spent the rest of the drive hanging on for dear life as Charlie made it her personal mission to get him to the doctor on time, dead or alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She then settled in to sit in the waiting room, snapping open a magazine with - was that an elf on the cover? - and waving him onward when the receptionist called his name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was lucky to have a friend like her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled into the hallway, taking his shoes off and stepping onto the scale when prompted, then backing up to the wall so the nurse could write down his height. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was ushered into a small exam room, his temperature was taken, his eyes, ears, and nose were examined, and he was told to wait just a second, the doctor will be right in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited some more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doubled over as pain lanced through his forearm, aggravating the old wound in his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited some more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the doctor walked in, holding a clipboard, and asked him what was going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much, he wanted to say. So freaking much, and it’s overwhelming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he said “My arm has been hurting,” and held out the arm in question for examination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor ran his fingers over the twisted, scarred skin, gently examining him, and asked him to describe the pain. Was it dull or sharp?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Cas answered mulishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this is where your soulmark was, am I correct?” The doctor probed the general area, and Cas almost yanked his hand back, staying the motion at the last second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is correct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. And when did you say this started?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas told him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, I’m gonna draw some blood and do a quick test, that all right?” The doctor was already readying the syringe, so Cas agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he sat in the room for quite a bit longer, amusing himself by texting Charlie. She was partway through an in-depth explanation of the existence of ‘memes’ when the nurse from before, Donna if he remembered correctly, bustled into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One look at her face, brimming with some emotion he couldn’t quite discern, told him that something was most definitely up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am? What is it?” He jumped up from his seat, zeroing in on the piece of paper clutched in her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart,” she managed to say, eyes welling up with tears, grinning at him. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve found your soulmate!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything Cas had been thinking shorted out. His brain was doing a remarkable impersonation of static. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hormone levels in your blood strongly suggest a recent first encounter with your soulmate! The pain should go away when you seal the bond.” She handed him the paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Kiss his soulmate and the pain will go away. Sounded like a bad fairy tale. Who would want him, scarred, traumatized wreck that he was?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he said woodenly, leaving the room and silently paying his bill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat quietly, brain working furiously, as Charlie drove him to physical therapy, and then to a local used car dealer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still in a daze as he drove his new 1970 Excalibur series car off the lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had given him a huge discount, but he’d inspected the car and found that it was in perfect condition, with less than fifty thousand miles on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d asked why the discount, and had been told “Just get that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> off my lot. I should be paying </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got home, he sighed and opened his email, figuring he should clear out the junk mail before it started to pile up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been at it for a good ten minutes, sorting out the spam from the useful stuff, when he came across a new message from the Soulmark Agency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his breath, and remembering the clinical photo of his soulmark that had been snapped and uploaded when he’d signed on to go overseas, he clicked on the email. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A lot of very dramatic things happen</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean stirred grumpily as a loud pounding noise echoed through his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smacked his mouth a couple of times. His lips were chapped and cracked, and his tongue was dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, and he felt like he’d been run over by a semi and then eaten by wolves, because his soulmates had rejected him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He burrowed deeper under the covers, resolving to let the pounding sort itself out, when he heard a very distinctive, angry female voice. “Dean! Don’t think I won’t pick this lock!” Jo. Jo was at his door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Muzzily, his fogged brain churned up a vague hint of something he’d forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pounding stopped, and a scratching sort of noise started, and yep, that would be Jo, picking the lock. As promised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean wished he hadn’t taught her how to do that. Couldn’t a man die in peace around here? Another stab of pain went through him and he yelled out in pain, prompting a flurry of activity from the other side of the door, followed by a lot of cussing, followed by increasingly heavy impacts on the poor door, which really couldn’t be expected to stand up to that assault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the fifth try, it splintered and gave way, and Dean’s friend Benny came crashing through. Through his open bedroom door, Dean watched as Jo and Garth followed Benny through the wreckage of his perfectly good door, all of them calling out for him worriedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garth found him first, and everything after that was a wild flurry of activity. Dean was vaguely conscious of yelling, and someone holding water to his parched lips, and someone else asking him frantically what was going on, and then there were paramedics storming through the destroyed door and picking him up, putting him on a stretcher, and then he was unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dimly registered that the help had probably come too late. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down, and knew he probably wouldn’t wake back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Call Sam,” he heard someone say, as everything went black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam was in bed snuggled up to Jess, generally enjoying himself on his day off in their cozy apartment, when his phone started blaring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jess made a sleepy squeak and flapped her hand around before settling it back on the gentle swell of her stomach, and Sam contemplated the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was in law school and he was working part time as a paralegal. This was his one day off. He wanted to cuddle his wife and relax.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, Jo never called. She always texted, unless it was an emergency, which meant something had happened. Sighing, he picked up the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Sam, we just found him like that, and he hasn’t woken up, and the doctors are-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, hold up, wait a second,” he said quickly, suddenly not very sleepy at all. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean’s in the hospital,” she told him tearfully, “And the doctors don’t know if he’s going to wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can be on a plane in a couple hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam made it to the hospital where Dean was in record time, having sprinted through the airport and rented a car, then proceeded to break every driving law known to man, to pull up in the parking lot. He was met by Garth, a diminutive man he remembered Dean being friends with in school, and figured Garth was probably involved somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” he demanded as he launched himself out of the tiny car, stretching himself out and working the kinks out of his muscles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, yeah,” Garth said quickly. “He usually meets up with me and Benny and Jo for game night, and he’s never missed a one, so when he did we all tried to get hold of him, but he didn’t answer his phone, so we went by his place.” He took a breath, struggling to keep up with Sam’s pace as he headed in the doors. “When we got there we could hear him yellin’ in pain, so Benny broke the door down and we found him, well. It wasn’t good. They’re saying soulmate rejection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garth trailed off as Sam approached the reception desk. “Winchester, Dean,” he gritted out. “I’m his brother,” he added, when the receptionist looked like she was going to argue, then thanked her as he headed to the room she’d indicated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He passed a waiting room that contained Jo and Benny, and made a mental note to tell the hospital to allow them back to see Dean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath caught when he saw his brother, lying still and pale in the hospital bed with a breathing tube in, unconscious. Dean looked so small and fragile, and Sam moved to sit down, gingerly holding his brother’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were scratches all along Dean’s wrist, across his darkened soulmark, and Sam wondered if Dean even knew he’d been doing damage to himself or if he was so out of his mind with pain that it hadn’t registered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charlie,” Cas said into the phone. “You’re not gonna believe this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-what?” she sniffled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charles? Are you crying?” he asked, padding around his kitchen making tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she denied, then sniffled again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, talk to me,” he cajoled, deciding his news could wait. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a beat of silence, and then “Garth called. My friend Dean is in the hospital. They don’t - they don’t know if he’ll pull through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas felt like the floor had fallen out from under him. “What?” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, frozen holding a cup of hot water and reaching for a teabag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Soulmate rejection,” Charlie explained, before blowing her nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That- that’s not possible,” Cas said desperately, trying to quell the feeling of nausea and despair rising in him. “That can’t be possible. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> his soulmate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie was outside Cas’ door in under ten minutes, and he jumped into her car, mind racing with all the thoughts of what could have happened to make Dean so completely certain he’d rejected him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If anyone had asked him about the drive to the hospital, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them a thing, except that he spent most of it hyperventilating, and when Charlie screeched to a halt directly in front of the hospital’s sliding door and motioned for him to get out, he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rushed to the reception desk. “Winchester? Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another one?” asked the receptionist, looking a bit leery. Cas realized he probably looked not half insane, and his trench coat was inside out. “There’s been people running in here demanding him all morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which room is he,” Cas pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You family?” she asked, snapping her gum, and he was seized with the sudden urge to reach across the desk and shake her until she understood that it was Dean, his Dean, kind, wonderful Dean in that room that he needed to get to right that second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he said, deadly calm. “I’m his soulmate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She summoned a doctor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re the soulmate,” Dr. Linda Tran mused as she led him toward Dean’s room. “And I take this to mean you haven’t rejected him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Cas almost yelped, peering anxiously around, looking for a room containing Dean. “No. I didn’t know he - I just found out. There must have been a misunderstanding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She led him into the room, which was already quite crowded. Garth was there, as was a man Cas was pretty sure ran a small Cajun restaurant, and a pretty blonde girl. And a very, very large man with long brown hair who was holding Dean’s hand and muttering “come on, big brother, come on,” under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dr. Tran said briskly. “Cas, talk to him as much as possible, and get as much skin to skin contact as you can. We’ll know in a day or so if he’ll pull through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room erupted in general chaos, but Cas only had eyes for Dean.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean wakes up and promptly causes another panic</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cas rubbed his eyes, well into his tenth hour of sitting curled up on the narrow hospital bed with Dean, trying to keep their skin in contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Tran had told him to talk to Dean, so he’d read all his favorite books out loud until his voice had, cracking and breaking, given out completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he’d curled up around Dean, practically spooning the other man, and hummed softly, trying to project soothing calm and care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t sleep. His soulmate was dying in a bed because he thought Cas hadn’t wanted him, the least Cas could do was stay awake and try to help Dean any way he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” came a voice. Blearily, Cas looked up at the tall shadow wavering in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked a few times, and the shadow resolved itself into Dean’s brother. What was his name? Sam. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Castiel,” Sam said gently. “I love my brother. And I know you do too, because that mark on his wrist says you two were meant for each other. But you’re not doing him any good if you don’t take care of yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas ran a hand along Dean’s arm, lacing their fingers together. “I can’t leave him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, how about I call someone to take you home so you can shower and eat and stuff, and you can drive yourself back here? Charlie says you just got a new car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas eyed the younger man. “The nurses put you up to this because it’s way past visiting hours and I’m pissing them off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, the nurses put me up to this because you’re killing yourself here. You can come back any time; he needs contact with you.” Sam moved into the room, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. “I’ll be right here with him until you get back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grudgingly, Cas levered himself out of the bed, stretching out his cramped muscles and wincing when blood flow returned slowly to his legs. He cracked his back, twisting from side to side, and cleared his throat, since it was still sore from all the reading. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam handed home a cup of water and pulled him into a hug. “He’ll be okay. You take care of yourself, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you being nice to me? Something I did landed Dean here.” Cas sipped at the water, wincing as pain lanced through his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re my brother’s soulmate. You’re practically family. Now get downstairs, Garth will be here in a little bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grumbling, Cas complied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was very extremely painful, and there was a really annoying beeping noise, and it was all dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean blinked his eyes open, which solved exactly one of those problems. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god!” And apparently created another, because he was hallucinating his little brother’s voice, but his little brother was in California, and Dean was-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Right. Dean was at home, dying, because Cas didn’t want him, but his friends had burst in, which meant Dean was in the hospital, which meant… he wasn’t going to die. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned. He was going to have to live with the knowledge that his soulmate didn’t want him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam’s voice urged, and Dean grunted. Then there were nurses swarming the room, and Sam was being ushered out, and there were lights shining in Dean’s eyes and people listening to his heart and asking how he felt, and he didn’t know how to answer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How did he feel?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Restless, he decided. When Dean was hurting, what he did best was run. He’d run from his father countless times as a child, until the man had threatened to hurt Sammy if Dean continued. He’d run from Lisa when she’d wanted a relationship and he hadn’t been able to commit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean decided that this was as good a time as any to see the Grand Canyon, and began plotting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas rushed through his shower, thinking only of getting back to Dean’s side and waiting for him to wake up so they could talk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he tossed on some mismatched fresh clothes and padded into his kitchen to find something to eat before he drove back to the hospital. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fridge contained a block of moldy cream cheese, a single tortilla, and a wilted head of broccoli. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What on earth had happened to the groceries he’d bought just the other day?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were mostly canned goods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling like a complete idiot, Cas pulled a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli out of the cupboard and pried open the lid, cursing as he sliced his finger open on the sharp metal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood over the sink, blood dripping from his finger, and stared blankly at the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When was the last time he’d slept? He couldn’t remember. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep didn’t matter. Dean mattered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas wrapped a paper towel around his finger and settled in on the couch with his can of cold ravioli, stabbing a fork into the can and wolfing down the food without even tasting it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He woke up four hours later with tomato sauce smeared across his face and his fork stuck to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he muttered as he jumped up, brushing himself down and wiping the tomato sauce off, then tugging his shoes on before snatching his keys and rushing out the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was met at the hospital by Sam and Benny, who were both in the waiting room. Sam looked distraught, running his hands through his hair and pacing while an orderly tried to calm him down. Benny was slumped in a chair, phone pressed to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something was wrong. Was Dean-?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. No. Dean wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam?” Cas asked, wavering in the doorway, silently pleading for Sam to say something reassuring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam didn’t. “He’s gone,” he said hollowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas didn’t feel his knees go out, but he knew they must have. He sank to the floor, mind spinning at the thought of a world without Dean. “Oh god,” he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He woke up,” Sam was saying to the orderly. “He woke up, and everyone came in, and I had to leave, and then he just… left?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, soothingly patting his arm. “Mr. Winchester checked himself out earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas looked up. What?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s alive?” he asked, his voice shaky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Benny confirmed, covering the mouthpiece of the phone as he turned to talk to Cas. “Problem is, ain’t nobody knows where he’s got to.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>These IDIOTS</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y’all I have a tumblr! Come see me at nebulous-bondage :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean cursed as he maneuvered his Baby through the rush hour traffic he was trapped in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d woken up in the hospital, his soulmate nowhere to be found, and had immediately deduced that the man had heard from one of their mutual friends what had happened and had come in to save Dean’s life, but hadn’t wanted to be there when he woke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t be any more clear that Dean had been completely, thoroughly rejected by his soulmate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed a vacation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d pulled on the rank clothes he’d been brought in wearing and had texted Bobby that he needed help. The older man had been there as quickly as possible, battered cap pulled low over his face, and had bundled Dean into his car and deposited him back at his apartment with a minimum of fussing and a gruff hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean had packed a bag of essentials and taken off for the Grand Canyon, telling Bobby not to expect him back for a couple of weeks. He’d shoved his phone into the bottom of one of his bags, not wanting to be bothered, and had started blasting his music as he drove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he was stuck in possibly the only town between Kansas and Arizona big enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>rush hour traffic, and the residual weakness from his recent stint in the hospital and all things related to the mark on his wrist was messing with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he signaled then turned, cutting across three lanes of traffic and prompting a chorus of honking horns. He coasted down the exit ramp and pulled into a motel parking lot, forming over cash for a room for a night and resolving to go out and hustle pool later to make some more money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he didn’t have enough for the trip, he wasn’t rich but he wasn’t poor either, but there was a thrill in the game he played that he couldn’t help but be a little bit addicted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas’ apartment has turned into a call center. He, Sam, Garth, Benny, Charlie, and his boss from the library, Jackie, sat in his living room, distractedly munching on chips and trying to figure out where the hell Dean had gone to when he decided to pull a runner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was flipping through an atlas, trying to pinpoint all the places Dean had ever talked about wanting to visit, writing each of them on a piece of paper. Benny was calling up various people who knew Dean and asking them if he’d contacted them, Jackie was soothing Castiel as best as she could, Charlie was using her kickass computer skills to try to find any sort of a trail through Dean’s credit cards, and Garth was… mostly providing emotional support. And snacks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of which, he emerged from Castiel’s kitchen with a platter of something purple that smelled rather good, and at least three members of the haphazard search and rescue team absently made grabby hands at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garth dispensed the things, which turned out to be slices of purple potatoes with cheese and various herbs Cas hadn’t known he owned sprinkled on top. They were very good, and very warm, and Cas was extraordinarily stressed out, and he found himself falling asleep on the apartment floor, his head resting in Jackie’s lap as the bustle of his friends went on around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Castiel woke up, half of their team was asleep and the other half (Sam and Charlie) looked to be mainlining caffeine. Charlie was tapping furiously at her keyboard. “His phone is dead, so I can’t track it,” she said. “And he’s not used his card. I’ve set up a program to scan the guest logs of every hotel within three hundred miles, but it’ll take days at this rate. And he could always have used an alias.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas let out a small groan of frustration. “We gotta get to him before that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam thunked down an empty mug. “I’ve got the list of places he wanted to go. We did some judicious security camera hacking and took a good look around all of them, and there was no sign of him or the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas stood up, noted the time, and moved to make breakfast for everybody. They’d all think better with some protein in their bellies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” Charlie exclaimed, leaning over an entirely different computer that Cas recognized as his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie, did you use my computer to do illegal things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. Shut up. Anyway! I’ve got a ping!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garth jolted awake, murmured something unintelligible that seemed to contain the word ‘flowerpot’, and went back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Sam demanded as he and Cas scooted closer to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a…” Charlie’s brow furrowed. “It’s from the Santa Fe police department.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean took a moment to check for bedbugs before he carried his things into the room, then set out again to scope out a good bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cruised around downtown until he found a place that looked like it would suit his needs, a hole in the wall with raucous laughter emanating from it. He could tell it was the sort of place where people looked the other way if something not strictly legal went down, where the dregs of society went to have a good night out on the town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Dean’s kind of place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parked down the street a little, not wanting his Baby to catch any backlash if he started something accidentally, and sauntered in, starting the arduous process of appearing to drink a lot more than he really had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours later, Dean was stone cold sober and acting like he was drunk off his ass as he stumbled toward one of the two rickety pool tables and dramatically challenged the reigning champion to a match for whatever he had in his pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reigning champion was a middle aged man with a ten gallon hat and spurs on, built in a solid way that made Dean hope he made it out without pissing anybody off. The man’s build resembled Benny’s, and Dean knew that Benny could kick his ass on a good day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slapped down fifty dollars, leering at the man, and took the first shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half an hour later, Dean was on his third game with the third person, and he could tell they were getting wise to his scam. He had a little over four hundred dollars on him and was figuring he should probably leave after this game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a barmaid coming behind him tripped and dropped one of the drinks she was carrying, and he whirled around to catch it smoothly without thinking about what he was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No drunk man can pull a move like that,” said the first man he’d won against. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Dean was caught, and they all knew it. The men he’d scammed were getting up and heading toward him threateningly, and he glanced toward the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t make it. The crowd was too thick, and most of them probably weren’t on his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then,” he said, flashing a winning smile and tucking his winnings safely into an inside, zippered pocket. “I’m sure we can work this out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he didn’t think the man about to take a swing at him thought the same. Then the hit was coming and Dean was reacting instinctively, deflecting the blow and slamming the heel of his hand into the man’s nose, drawing forth a satisfying crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring it,” he challenged, looking at the herd of interested onlookers, made brave by an excess of alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They did. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Truths come out</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this took so long! Words just weren’t working</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“He got- oh my god, Cas, he got picked up in a bar fight.” Charlie scowled at the screen, like that would change anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, okay.” Cas got up and started looking for his suitcase. “I’m going after him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jackie, once she’d been informed of the situation, had told Cas to take the rest of the week off and “go get your man, dear,” so he rushed around the apartment throwing clothes haphazardly into his suitcase while his friends scurried around him, reminding him to grab his license and promising to do various things that he was abandoning completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hurried out of the apartment and stopped by an ATM, pulling out some cash to have on hand as well as his credit card, then hopped into his car and took off for Santa Fe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was mostly conscious and in rather a lot of pain, and had been in the holding cell in the Santa Fe police department for quite some time when the door clinked open and his arm was roughly seized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yer fine’s been paid, and so’s your bail,” the officer told him, paying no heed to Dean’s wince as he was dragged out into the station proper to be processed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was handed his things, the cuffs bruising his wrists were removed, and he was escorted through another door, where a familiar trench coat was waiting for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” Cas turned around and got a good look at him, and repeated “Dean?” with a great deal more concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean tried to give him a cocky smile, but it pulled oddly at his split lip, and he didn’t think it really worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting a hotel,” Cas said, still looking at him with a wrinkle between his brows, “and we’re gonna clean you up. Then we’re going to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh joy. Talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas had turned and was walking toward the exit, obviously expecting Dean to follow, and so Dean did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car ride in Cas’ new, completely hideous car was full of awkward tension, and Dean was glad when they pulled up to a small roadside motel and Cas marched him inside after booking a room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stopped in the doorway, looking around, while Cas bustled around in the bathroom, dampening a washcloth and grabbing a towel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one bed in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Cas had come to get him, for god only knew what reason, and obviously wasn’t expecting him to stay long enough to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was fine. He’d get cleaned up, retrieve the Impala, and head out to the Grand Canyon just like he’d planned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Cas was back in the room, motioning for Dean to sit on the bed, and he obeyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Cas started as he gently dabbed dried blood from the corner of Dean’s mouth with a damp washcloth. “Care to tell me why you disappeared from the hospital and nearly gave all of us collective coronary failure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked down, and Cas used one finger to tilt his head back up before setting in on a cut across Dean’s temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean winced, the torn flesh stinging, and Cas whispered a soft apology, his face a gorgeous picture of focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- they told me I only pulled through cuz my soulmate came in, but when I woke up you were gone and I just- I just couldn’t be there anymore. Not if you didn’t want me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas had frozen, mouth slightly open as he searched Dean’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna go see the Grand Canyon,” Dean tacked on, wondering why Cas was looking so sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.” Cas sounded choked up. “God, Dean, I- I do want you. How could I not? We’re soulmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saw me after our marks would have darkened. And didn’t say anything.” Cas winced, gripping his wrist and gritting his teeth, and Dean leaned forward in concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas said again, strained. “Dean, I can barely remember what my soulmark looked like. I swear to you, had I known, I would have been overjoyed to find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean blinked, taken aback even as Cas recovered from his little episode and finished patching up Dean’s various scrapes. “Your soulmark isn’t-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas rolled up his sleeve, giving a rueful smile. His wrist and forearm where his mark would have been were a mass of ropy, knotted scars, completely obliterating the mark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scars were in a hatch pattern, quite obviously put there intentionally by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of someone taking Cas, his Cas, and doing something that vicious to him. Disfiguring someone’s soulmark was the ultimate violation; Dean couldn’t remember ever hearing about it happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas…” he whispered, fingers lacing with Cas’, frozen in their tableau of truth. Dean, hunched on the bed. Cas, kneeling before him, offering up his scarred arm as a supplicant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s next action would decide their future together, he knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised Cas’ hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before turning the hand over and kissing his palm and then, giving Cas plenty of time to pull away, kissed the spot where his soulmark had been. “Soulmate,” he breathed, and felt Cas relax. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soulmate,” Cas returned, and then they were kissing. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Come say hi! I’m on tumblr at nebulous-bondage.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Trip continues</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry this took so long</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning, Dean woke up with Cas curled around him, breathing steadily, and took a moment to revel in the warmth and comfort of having his soulmate so close to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he quietly extracted himself and went in search of coffee. After carrying on a vicious argument with the ancient coffeemaker perched on the desk in their room, it reluctantly agreed to produce two cups of black sludge that he may not have possibly been able to call coffee, but which was almost certainly caffeinated. “Cas,” he said quietly, brushing the other man’s messy dark hair out of his eyes. “Cas, I have coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Dean held out the cup, swirling it tantalizingly under Cas’ nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas made a weak grab for it, missed completely, and turned his face sullenly back into the pillow, muttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee, Cas,” Dean coaxed, noting how adorable his soulmate was when he was all rumpled from sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas was obviously not a morning person, but Dean was able to wake him up enough to drink the coffee, and after that he was pretty much good to go. “Morning, Dean,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he sipped at the drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Cas. Our mutual friends are freaking out, and your phone has been buzzing nonstop.” Dean himself was occupied with texting all the friends who’d been blowing up his phone for the last few hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam in particular was extremely worried, and took rather a lot of reassurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once both of them had placated their friends and family, had gotten caffeine into their systems, and were starting to think about breakfast, they cuddled up together onto the bed and discussed their plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you wanted to see the Grand Canyon,” Castiel said as he absently rubbed soothing circles on Dean’s knee, which had been bothering him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I’ve always wanted to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Castiel mused. “I’ve taken off work for the week and you’re still on sick leave. We could always go now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean turned to look at him. “You’d want to go with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Cas kissed the top of his head. “You’re my soulmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After much discussion, it was decided that they would drive down separately, each in his respective car, and stay together in the motel by the canyon before driving separately back, so as not to leave various cars strewn all over the Midwest. Cas could barely bring himself to get into his car and be away from Dean for the hours it would take them to drive there, and he knew Dean felt the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the journey, they ended up stopping almost every hour just to see each other, talk and hug, before getting back in their cars and continuing their journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they reached Grand Canyon National Park, they summarily booked a room at the lodge and then went out to an outlook to see the Canyon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stared out across the wide expanse of rock and chasm, awestruck, and Cas, who’d seen the Grand Canyon before, stared at Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, when the morning sun formed a halo on Dean’s hair and lit his excited green eyes just so, Cas took a picture. Dean in the foreground, leaning on the guardrail and gazing down into the canyon, a small smile gracing his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scampered from outlook to outlook, snapping pictures of rocks and trees and bushes and more rocks, and Cas followed him, snapping pictures of Dean being adorably excited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he surreptitiously Googled a few different tours of the canyon, trying to find one he knew Dean could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was excited all morning, his spirit certainly not flagging, but his knee (and someday Cas was going to find out what had happened there) kept buckling underneath him and Cas knew that, while Dean would probably love to hike down the canyon, he wouldn’t be able to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they stopped to buy lunch at a small restaurant that boasted hamburgers and hoagies, Cas took a minute to access the money his homophobic, grumpy old relative had left him, and used a relatively small portion of it (it was a lot of money) to book a guided mule ride trip down to the riverbed, and then another one back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he sat back and munched on his hoagie, grinning at Dean when his soulmate gave him a wide smile around his steakburger.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The End</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are, and I’m sorry this took so long (so many exams. So, so many exams). Short and sweet because, well. I have three book reports due Monday.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>*two months later*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He left,” Dean said, staring at his hands as he twisted them around. He sat on the edge of the squashy armchair, facing Dr. Wilson. “He just- he was screaming, and I woke him up and he lashed out because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>that when he’s scared, and it’s all okay, but then he left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Wilson leaned forward in his chair. “Dean, remember, Castiel loves you. He probably just needs time to deal with his own demons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded. “But he’ll come back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Wilson nodded, running a hand through his cropped dark hair. “He’ll come back. Now, let’s unpack some more childhood trauma, how does that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pulled a chuckle out of Dean, and he sat back, relaxing. “Gonna fix me up, Doc?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna try.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hurt him,” Cas lamented to his therapist, Dr. Prince. “I was dreaming, I was back there, and when I woke up I was disoriented, and I lashed out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been through trauma, Castiel. You’ve got PTSD. It’s a natural reaction to have, okay?” Dr. Prince adjusted her notepad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I killed people,” he said, voice flat and dead. “I’ve got blood on my hands, I don’t deserve to touch him with these hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in a war, Castiel. You were an army doctor, you tried to save people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas lost his patience. “For God’s sake, I left a red handprint across his face!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Dr. Prince spoke next, her voice was soft, like Cas was some spooked animal. “Castiel, I know how you feel. I’ve been to war. I lost my soulmate that way. I’ve woken up swinging a few times. So what do you say we work on that together, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Castiel nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, he went back to their apartment, Dean wrapping him in a bear hug the second he opened the door. They stood in their kitchen, swaying together slightly, as each whispered promises and reassurances to the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*one year later*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna be fine, Dean,” Sam soothed as he reached out and straightened Dean’s tie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he’s not there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam rolled his eyes, like Dean was some particular kind of idiot. “He’ll be there. You two are meant for each other, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean twitched, uncomfortable in the tux. “Hold still,” Charlie scolded, fussing with his collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be okay,” Sam reassured, ever the anchor in any of Dean’s various turbulences. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah, it was okay. In fact, when Dean saw Cas standing at the altar, tears shimmering in those beautiful blue eyes, it was damn near perfect. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, Dr Wilson and Dr Prince are Sam Wilson and Diana Prince, because I just watched TFATWS and Wonder Woman</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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